


from thy grave

by EasyPeasyPanic



Series: my darker fics [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Author is still in a dark mood, Brainwashing, Captivity, Dark Tobirama, Drabble, Edo Tensei, I'm tired so I'm gonna stop tagging but this is the gist of it, M/M, Madara uses Izanagi to come back to life, Referenced Autopsy, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyPeasyPanic/pseuds/EasyPeasyPanic
Summary: There are many things that Uchiha Madara expected when he was brought back with his Izanagi.Waking in a bedroom with his dead brother was not one of them.
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Izuna, Uchiha Izuna & Uchiha Madara
Series: my darker fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657405
Comments: 23
Kudos: 103





	from thy grave

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still in a dark mood and there just isn't enough content so I guess I have to make my own. 
> 
> Also look at this!!
> 
> https://twitter.com/Perelka_L/status/1311732937562509312

* * *

He's been in this kind of pain before. But never like this.

Many winters over his life, Madara had experienced the empty _pain_ of a stomach without any substance inside. Rations had been low, a mixture of failed crops and unfinalized alliances, and the hunger had driven his body into a constant trembling that had ruined many a document as he had struggled to negotiate for supplies. Still, that's _nothing_ compared to the feeling in his stomach that creeps into his conciousness as he gasps in air. 

He coughs, body jerking, and immediately, he's overcome by a sudden nausea brought on by starvation. His stomach twists painfully, as if it had turned against itself. A sudden acidic taste filling his mouth, and he fights through the pangs of mind consuming _hunger_. Breathes in and out. Through his nose. Out his mouth. Don't vomit. Not yet, not until he's--

Madara blinks. It was disorienting, trying to focus his uncentered, shifted vision. It was a success, he realized. The Izanagi had worked, but he wasn't adjusted to having only one eye. The world around him spun and shifted, and he tried to blink away his confusion. He'd have to be fast, to quickly figure out where exactly he'd been buried, to switch out without notice, because if he knew that Senju bastard then--

It hits him _hard_ that he's sitting up. He's sitting up, in his own coffin, which shouldn't be possible, because they aren't that big. In fact, Madara feels prickles of unexplained _fear_ rise against his skin as he realizes there's something soft beneath his fingers, beneath his body. He looks down dumbly.

A bed?

He's in a bed. What the fuck--

"Aniki?"

Madara jerks, spinning his body to the right side, his blind spot, and almost topples over from the sudden motion. His world spins again, and he trembles, but eventually he manages to clear his vision and the vertigo passes. His mouth goes dry, as if stuffed with cotton, and bile rises up in his throat again. 

Beside him, kneeling on the floor by the futon that Madara was on, was his little brother. Izuna sat, deathly still, black eyes wide and confused. He was still in his funeral attire, a white kimono, still tucked right over left. His hair was loose around his shoulders, pooling down to his back, and he was...was so _pale._ He takes a shuddering breath, and he reaches out, because Madara isn't a fool. 

His own mind has...has tricked him before. 

(For weeks after Izuna's death, he'd swore he'd seen glimpses of his brother. Moments of doubt in his mind, as if his brother hadn't been cremated by his own flames, as if he'd been incorrect as to who burned. As if it had all been a bad dream. He'd hear his voice, see glimpses of his smile, turn his head and catch a sight of his hair like he'd rounded a corner too fast.)

Madara lets out a broken cry, "Izuna…?" And his fingers miss, almost, the cheek he was trying to grasp. His perception wasn't exact, not with only one eye, but he manages. His fingers brush against soft flesh, unnaturally cool, almost _wrong_ , but solid. His fingers were touching skin that didn't fade away as it always had before, and he let out a soft exhale of…

_(Fear? Relief? Was he still dead? Did he fail…?)_

"Aniki." Izuna leans forward, clinging to him like a small child, burying his face in his naked chest. His limbs were light against his brother, more so than normal, and for a moment, Madara _feared_ . Did his brother not get enough to eat-- another common terror that he'd had been winters ago-- before he's reminded that his brother's _dead_. 

What need do the dead have for food?

"Is this the Purelands?" Madara rasps out, his voice hoarse from disuse. His throat ached, far too dry and raw. "I've missed you so much, Izuna. I didn't stop missing you, not once. I swear--"

"This isn't the Purelands." Izuna mumbles into his chest. Madara tightens his hold on him, pulling him all the closer, fighting back the next wave of nausea and the tears burning in his eyes. "It's better than that."

Madara doesn't want to let him go. He doesn't want to because the idea of letting him go again might _shatter_ him, might destroy whatever moment this was, like Izuna would disappear if he dared test the Gods' gift and let him go _again_ . But all of his instincts are telling him _wrong, wrong, wrong._ His hair stands up on his arms, and he can't explain the feeling, but something isn't _right_ about this. He needs to...needs to…

"What are you talking about, otouto?" Madara asks, urgently, removing his arms. Grasping his face with both of his hands, staring into black eyes. _Content, wonderful, whole black eyes_ that are in his head, in the sockets where they should be, before he'd begged his big brother to take them. "What are-- I don't understand."

"I'm alive." Izuna's smile is far too wide, pulled taut over his teeth in a way that seems more of a sneer. "I'm alive, Aniki." His eyes widen, and he tilts his head. Presses a hand against Madara's chest. Traces down. It's dark in the room with only a small candle lit at their side, which doesn't sound right in his muddled mind, because he shouldn't be in a room. He should be in his grave, clawing his way out, preparing for his inevitable victory, but he's not. This isn't right. This isn't--

Izuna isn't supposed to be alive. Not yet, not until Madara could craft a world for him, a better world. His head spun again, and Madara shoved at his little brother's hands. This wasn't right. 

"I don't-- I don't understand. You died, Izuna. I watched you--"

"I know." Izuna says, far too docile. He should be shouting, screaming. Rebellious kid brother, he should be giving Madara hell for letting him die originally. For not protecting the clan. Instead, he folds his hands onto his lap. "I know, I don't understand all the details either. How are you alive?" He tilts his head to the side, inky black hair flowing over his shoulder. "I-- I _begged_ him not to bring you back. It hurts, I didn't want you to suffer. Did it hurt? Coming back, did it hurt?"

Hurt? Somebody hurt his little brother? No, no, Madara wouldn't let that happen. Not again, not after he'd failed to protect him the first time. He should've done better, should've _protected_ Izuna, used his body as a damn shield. Let that bastard Senju's blade cut through his own flesh rather than Izuna's lung, but he could fix it. He could fix it, now that he had Hashirama's flesh and the tablet's plans. 

"Nobody's going to hurt you." Madara promises, letting his little brother cling to his wrists, his wrists be encircled by cold, pale fingers. "I'm going to protect you. But you need to explain what's going on. How are you alive? Izuna, otouto, look at me. I'm going to take care of you."

Izuna laughs softly, "I don't need you to take care of me, Aniki." He replies easily, still holding onto his older brother's wrists. His eyes aren't...right. Madara can't place what's wrong exactly. "Don't worry, everything's going to be okay. I'll teach you all the rules, and you won't ever have to hurt. I promise." 

His chest hurts, aches. His stomach twists again, and that doesn't sound right? Madara doesn't need to be protected, he's the elder brother. His duty has always been to look out for his baby brother-- it had been his only _thoughts_ for years and years. He'd clung to that thought, to keeping his brother alive and by his side _always_.

( _Get up and run_ , his instincts screamed at him, desperately. The rational part of his mind trying to make out the situation and adapt. _Get out. Get out. Get out._ )

"Rules?" Madara repeats dumbly. He yanks his wrists away, trying to fight back the guilt when his brother let out a soft, distressed whine. "Izuna, stop, just for a second. How are you alive? What rules?"

"I was brought back, just like you." Izuna answers, serene. But then guilt flashes through his eyes, and he flinches. "I didn't want him to bring you back. I'm sorry, if it hurt. I begged him, I swear I did. I was happy just to have you here, although you smelled terrible. Preserving you after the autopsy was difficult, but he loves me so much, he managed. He even let me have you in my room." 

Dread fills his bones, washing over him like frigid water thrown onto him suddenly. He stiffens, staring at his brother in horror, and he dry retches for a moment, getting dizzy again. _Brought back? Autopsy?_ Madara's hand shakily moves downwards, to his chest, and he swallows hard. 

A thin scar, one that he doesn't recognize from before his last fight with his former friend, settles beneath the pads of his index finger. Mechanically, he lets it slide down from his shoulder, across his sternum. Until it was met with a deeper scar, halfway, one going up to the otherside, and the other shifting _down_ . Bile burns his throat, and he chokes it down. He'd been cut open, he'd truly been cut open-- that bastard, that fucking _bastard_ , the white oni. Madara had always assumed that Senju demon would handle his corpse with all of his suspicions and overwhelming control issues, but to defile his corpse-- 

He'd skin the bastard alive. 

Izuna's voice is shaky and broken, "I'm sorry I let him hurt you." He whispers, his fingers digging into Madara's arm to remove his hand from touching the scars, and his eyes were frantic. "But it's okay now. It's all over. He loves me, and he's going to love you too. And we'll all live together and be _happy_."

"What the hell are you talking about? Nobody hurt me, Izuna. Don't blame yourself, it was all done when I was alive." Madara assures, trying to get up, to stand and figure out where they were, what was happening, but failing. In fact, his body wasn't responding to his commands besides his arms. He tries again, but his legs don't move. They're numb, as if he's been sitting on his knees for too long. "Help me up, little brother. We need to leave. I have plans--"

"Leave?" Izuna echoes, but his voice was cold. Confused. "Where would we go? We live _here_."

"No, Izuna. No, we don't. We need to go."

"Yes, we do. Tobirama brought us back to life, so we can all be--"

"That bastard did _not_ bring me back to life. _I_ brought myself back to life with your eyes, with the Izanagi. Damnit, please, Izuna, help me up! We can figure this all out later."

To his horror, his little brother doesn't move a single muscle to help him. In fact, his face twists into a pained grimace, and he fidgets in place. Jerks as if he's been struck.

"Tobirama doesn't like when we call him rude names. You're going to get us both in trouble. That's not what lovers say to each other." Izuna whispers, cupping a hand around his mouth as if that albino bastard was somewhere nearby and might hear. Was he responsible for bringing Izuna back to life? He couldn't even let his beloved little brother rest after brutally _murdering_ him? 

As soon as he gathered his bearings, Madara was going to flay the man, slowly and deliberately. He'd peel the pale, red-marked skin off the muscle and bone, making the asshole _watch_ as he started from the bottom up, like a rabbit. (It was fitting, wasn't it? Red-eyes and white hair, like a damn rabbit.)

"He isn't your lover, Izuna. He's a miserable and sick bastard. He didn't bring me back to life, but he's going to _wish_ I had stayed dead." 

" _Madara_." Izuna said. Void of emotion, his face going completely blank. That was what was missing, what was wrong with his eyes. They weren't shining with emotion, not like they used to. Izuna had been like a flame. 

Not a normal fire, not an easy flame, but a wild one. A wildfire that couldn't be contained. Conflagration. A son of the Uchiha clan always burned brighter and hotter than even the fires of the sun, and he had always been just _that_ . But it was like he'd been snuffed out, changed into this empty, hollow version of himself. Nothing passionate or fiery about him, nothing _left_ but nonsense. Madara wasn't sure what Tobirama had done, how he revived his brother or what he'd done to him, but he wouldn't let it stand, wouldn't allow it to continue happening. 

He needed to get his brother the hell away from the Senju, and then he could figure everything else out from there. 

"He brought you back. You should be grateful." Izuna's eyes are narrowed. His breathing went shallow, and he tensed. 

The voice that follows makes them both jump. 

"No, I didn't. He's right, Izuna. I respected your wishes, and allowed your brother to remain dead. It was his own Izanagi that brought him back."

Madara turns his head, fighting back a snarl. He knew that voice. The Senju bastard was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, looking far too pleased with himself. He flipped a switch, flooding the room with light, and the Uchiha flinched back. It was too bright, too soon. It left splotches of color in his vision, like a kaleidoscope. It sends pain shooting through his head, like lightning being shocked directly through his skull.

He grits his teeth, willing the sudden dizziness away. 

"Tobirama," Izuna's all smiles and tender glances. He stands, moving to stand at the Senju's side, even as Madara tries to grab him and keep him still. Unsteadied, he can't quite grasp his brother's fluttering sleeves. Without hesitation, Izuna leans in, pressing a soft kiss against the bastard's pale lips, and Madara _tries_ to lunge. His legs don't cooperate still, and he can't make it up. 

"What the _fuck_ did you do to him?" Madara shouts, furious. "And how did you know about my Izanagi?"

Tobirama wraps a possessive arm around Izuna's waist, and his little brother immediately lays his head against his shoulder. His eyes half-close, and he has that calm, serene look on his face again. 

"I studied your Sharingan after your death." Tobirama replies calmly, running his fingers through Izuna's hair. He looks absolutely _possessive_ , and it makes the older Uchiha's skin crawl. "There was an abnormal amount of chakra lingering in the coils around your optic nerve, which wasn't deteriorating. It seemed to be in a stasis. I wasn't entirely sure, but I did appropriate reattach all of your organs to a functional level in case you _did_ come back." 

"He let you come stay here with us." Izuna says cheerfully. "I'm so happy you're alive, Aniki. Tobira, he can live with us, right? Even though he's not dead anymore?"

"Anything that makes you happy, Izuna." Tobirama agrees, easily placating the younger Uchiha. He's far too amiable, so unlike the cold, aloof man that Madara remembers, but there's still something _off_ about him. 

Madara's stomach hurts worse, grumbling painfully, and he doubles over. 

"I apologize. I did my best to repair the damages." Tobirama examines him like he's dissecting him apart with his eyes, peeling off his skin and examining every organ underneath. "But I did have to empty your stomach. You won't believe what I found."

Oh. _Oh_. Madara curses, gritting his teeth. His arms press tightly to his sides, trying to fight off the onslaught of pain. 

Tobirama's attention shifts, his gaze flicking to the man at his side. "Izuna, do you mind preparing your brother something to eat?" 

"Of course not. I'll be back in a minute, Aniki." Izuna chirps, disappearing down out of the doorway and into the rest of the house. Tobirama moved closer, crouching down to Madara's level. 

He smirks, lips twisting. "Were you so desperate you had to resort to _biting_ to try and win against Anija?" He taunts, but then his face darkens. "Or perhaps you thought you'd become something of a scientist yourself with his flesh. It doesn't matter, I handled it."

The idea of this man, his little brother's murderer, with his hands inside of his body. Cutting him open, splitting his skin open and stitching it back together. Taking him apart, piece by piece, organ by organ, slicing apart his tissue, his blood on pale hands, his Sharingan (Izuna's Sharingan) at the mercy of the man that Madara hated most, it all overwhelms him. He seethes, but also feels cold all over. Violated. Betrayed to know Hashirama, even after stabbing him in the back, further spit on him by giving his body to this bastard to be picked apart like a toy. 

He has to stray from those thoughts, has to abandon them before he truly does lose the contents of his stomach (if there's anything left all besides acid).

He wets his cracked lips, tasting dried blood there. 

"What-- what the _fuck_ did you do to my brother?" Madara demands, trying to keep his temper in check. If he didn't, if he lost control of his emotions, in this state, it would be his downfall immediately. 

"Nothing. I love him." Tobirama replies passively. "And he loves me. I brought him back to life. You weren't a variable in any of my plans, but Izuna loves you, so I suppose an exception can be made."

"An exception?" Madara frowns. Tries to move again to _lunge_ for the bastard's throat. "You've completely-- he isn't _him_ anymore."

Tobirama frowns too, glaring. "Of course he is." He motions to Madara's legs, which were covered with a light green sheet. "I made the choice to seal your chakra and your legs for now, until you calm down. In my experience, revival is a tricky time for mental facilities. Izuna wouldn't stop screaming and cursing when he came back. I imagine the same for you." 

Madara blanches at the thought of his brother in pain, or afraid, unnaturally pulled back from the land of the dead. He's going to--to--

He doesn't know what he's going to do. With his chakra sealed, his movement limited…

Tobirama's smile is calm and gentle. "Don't worry, Madara. I know we've had... _our differences_ in the past." He assured, red eyes gleaming. It reminds him of the pictures of the temptation oni that were hung across his great aunt's living room. "But I'm prepared to allow you to live with us, so long as you follow the rules."

Madara glares, swallowing hard. "The rules…?"

Tobirama nods, still offering that small, pleased smile. 

"Izuna will teach you. Perhaps you'll even be invited into our bed." He stands up, giving Madara that same analyzing, calculating look. The same he gave to his enemy befores slitting their throats, to councilmen before he completely derailed their ideas. "Now, you'll eat what your brother brings you, and we'll let you have time to yourself to calm down. Adjust." 

"I'll find a way to escape, and I'll kill you. I'm taking my brother back, you bastard." Madara swears, snarling at him. He searches for something to throw, to slam against the pale face until it's bloody and broken, but there's nothing. 

(He planned this. He knew and he planned this, that--)

Tobirama blows out the candle by his side. Drifts towards the door. 

"On second thought," Tobirama tells him blankly, fingers lingering by the switch that controls the light. "Perhaps you need to be taught a lesson. You'll eat later, when your manners improve." 

Madara glowers. 

"Go fuck yourself, Senju." 

The man turns off the light and slams the door shut. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Wow this was so self indulgent but I'm on a new kick of wanting to read dark fics soo
> 
> :^)
> 
> Might do some Kagami fluff tomorrow tho. In a fluff mood now


End file.
